


softly and tenderly (we walk ahead)

by buckyjerkbarnes



Series: the long way home [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAEcation with stevebucky, Banter, Beach Day, Diana and Tony are mentioned in ch2 but don’t appear, Gen, M/M, Reunions, Supersoldiers in Love, and so much love it'll rot your teeth, i can’t with them, malibu is hot this time of year, springtime in dc, steve sees peggy for the first time in 70 years, these sappy assholes man, they’re coming I swear, trips to the grand canyon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyjerkbarnes/pseuds/buckyjerkbarnes
Summary: Assorted bits that include pieces that didn't make it into the Odyssey. Most (as in 95%) take place post-chapter six of the Ody. and before the epilogue. Tags to be added as each chapter is posted as to avoid spoilers beforehand!





	1. peggy

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of hitting 1.3k kudos on the Odyssey (which, holy shit you guys THANK YOU!), I thought it high-time to dedicate myself to getting a few new parts up in the work. Some of you expressed upset at Peggy not being more involved with the initial reunion, but I’d had this planned before I even published the sixth chapter of the Odyssey. Peggy deserved more than a few lines in a massive chapter— she deserved to see Steve, to see Bucky get his much deserved happiness, too. I hope this delivers. Enjoy!

2011.

*

They went to see Peggy on a balmy Tuesday two weeks after the attack on New York, just over twelve days since the gala and their miraculous reunion. Bucky drove his truck, the old, reliable thing, and Steve settled close to him in the cab, their legs pressed together. Steve’s hand covered Bucky’s thigh, thumb swirling aimless shapes into Bucky’s skin. When traffic allowed, Bucky tipped his face and caught Steve’s mouth in a kiss— sometimes tender and chaste, others long and not-so-chaste.

More than once they broke apart at the sound of a furious car horn blaring from their flank and the both of them dissolved into laughter every time.

(The dissonance between where Bucky had been all of a month ago and the wonderful place he’d wound up at the present struck him dumb in the odd moments. It swiped out at him when he could hear Steve humming in the shower, when he’d trip over Steve’s shoes at the foot of their bed like it was nineteen thirty-six, when Steve would smile, always such a soft, dopey smile when he caught Bucky watching him.  He’d give up everything to ensure he never had to go without Steve again, to know that he wouldn’t have to reacquaint himself with the hollowness of living without half his soul.)

For a weekday morning, DC was fairly mild. There was, of course, more tour buses than Bucky could count and the commuters here were an entirely different breed, close cousins of those in New York. There were a multitude of runners on practically every sidewalk or stretch of pavement available, monuments rising up from all sides.

“They have one for Captain America, you know,” Bucky admitted as they wound around the Potomac, Arlington cemetery at their left in all it’s white stones and green, sloping hills.

Steve hadn’t missed the significance of his wording. “Oh?”

“S’near the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The President came to the opening, made a speech and all that,” he claimed, flicking on his turn signal to get them on the road outside Peggy’s subdivision. His gaze briefly caught Steve’s, those stupidly, beautiful blue eyes like a punch to the sternum and the sweetest embrace all at once. “It wasn’t for _you_. It was for a figurehead. I’d lost _you_. Didn’t really give a shit about the shield.”

It was sheer luck, the traffic light before them flaring yellow then quickly turning red. Steve used this to their advantage, palming the side of Bucky’s neck and tugging him in for a gentle, reaffirming press of mouths. Their noses bumped together, Bucky’s eyes closing briefly as Steve mouthed along Bucky’s cheek, his jaw.

“It’s a green light,” Steve murmured.

Neither of them would admit that his breath left him on a shaking note. “So?”

“Buck,” was the wry reply.

“ _So_?”

Steve, the rounds of his cheeks coloring a delicious pink, sighed. Bucky couldn’t miss the little smirk playing around his lips, though. 

He rolled to a stop at the security booth just outside the iron gate, manually cranking down his window and shooting the woman on duty a smile. Her name was Lisa. Used to the procedure, he handed her his ID without being prompted, offering her a polite greeting.

“Morning, Mr. Barnes,” Lisa said, tapping at her computer screen and passing back his ID. It was small thing, the way her hand faltered as she spotted a second figure in the cab with him. She, quite abruptly, looked on the verge of tears. “You tell Mrs. Sousa I said to have a good day, alright?”

His smile softened. “Yeah. I will. You take it easy, okay?”

Lisa smiled, pressing two fingers to the switch that had the gate whining open. She leaned around Bucky, all big eyes and sniffles. “Welcome back, Mr. Rogers.”

It was the first time someone hadn’t called him _Captain America_ or _Cap_ or some iteration. Their surprise probably made it look as though they’d both been struck over the backs of their heads with a tire iron, but Bucky recovered enough to shoot Lisa a _have a good one, honey_ and to lower his foot down on the gas to ease them onward.

“Nice area,” Steve murmured in regards to Peg’s neighborhood. It was the type of place that probably landed at the top of the list for safest communities on the east coast, that screamed of the sort of suburbia Bucky never particularly cared for. It was too quiet— too far away from the noise of the city: no matter how far he went, he’d always be able to sleep better with some sort of noise. Slept the best with a combination of Steve and city-street noise, but that was a given.

“I think one of her grandkids picked it out. I know Junior offered to equip her place with top of the line security measures, but you and I both know despite her age, Peggy’s the bigger threat  no matter who she might go toe to toe with.”

That earned him a laugh of agreement. “You remember when she shot at me and the shield, point blank?”

Bucky smirked. “You were being an ass.”

“I was being an ass,” Steve agreed easily. “And I have no idea how anyone could doubt just how strong she is.”

“She was a woman,” Bucky murmured. He could remember the hard line of Peggy’s spine, the way her mouth would thin, but she never complained about the way her colleagues treated her. Not once. He knew, then, and he knew it now: had Steve been around, he would have put more than one sexist shithead in their place. “And meatheads back then liked to think just because she wore lipstick and a skirt that she couldn’t kick their asses to Timbuktu. I mean, she ran an op back in forty-six and took out a guy with a _stapler,_ Steve. A fucking stapler.”

“You say that like you’re surprised.” 

“I’m not surprised— I’m _impressed._ ”

He didn’t look at Steve, but he felt too-bright blue eyes on the side of his face anyway. “I’m so glad you had each other,” he said quietly.

Bucky rolled up to a stop sign, let a jogger cross in front of the truck before he took another left. “So am I.”

It had helped, even if he had tried to avoid her when the wounds were still open and everything was still so fresh and raw on his mind. Peggy had known Steve before the serum, had loved him dearly— more than that, she knew how much Bucky loved him, too. He cleared his throat, already prepared for an emotional day ahead of them.

“She and Daniel bought a place in Los Angeles back in forty-seven. Lived in the same house until he passed away back in eighty-nine. Peggy was going to sell it when she moved out here a few years back, but Tony convinced her not to. He maintains it, uses it for a safe house, I think. Kid’s more sentimental than you’d believe.”

“Oh gee,” Steve deadpanned, eyes flicking over the houses, at the spots of color that arose in the forms of a discarded bike at the curb or thick snatches of bushes overrun with spring flowers. “I wonder where he got _that_ from.”

“Am I supposed to take offense to that?” Bucky huffed, lowering his foot down on the break and easing his truck up to the curb with practiced ease. Someone had repainted the mailbox teal and white. 

“Oh, no, you weren’t. You and I both are stupidly sentimental people, Buck. That’s old news.”

Bucky didn’t bother to snark back, not when it was a statement of complete fact.

He put the truck in park, undid his seatbelt, and looked to Steve. “You ready?”

Steve slipped his fingers through Bucky’s, gave them a squeeze as he leaned in for a last press of lips, pulling back just enough to ghost a kiss over Bucky’s cheek, too. “Yeah.”

They slipped out the same side of the truck, immediately met with the early summer humidity.

Steve and Peggy had spoken over the phone for nearly three hours the afternoon following his and Bucky’s first night back together. Tony had apparently been sending her updates, hour by hour, and she sent Bucky a message, herself, hoping things were going as swimmingly as _our darling Anthony is describing them to be._

Steve had taken one look at the message, glanced quickly at Bucky, who’d nodded, already guessing what he was going to do, as he’d fumbled for the call button. There had been anticipation as he waited for the line to connect— it was nothing compared to standing on her front stoop, with the flower boxes in the front windows and the bird feeder on the left side of the house.

Bucky touched two fingers to the doorbell, heard the sound echo through her home.

A beat of nothing, then—

“Just a moment!” came her voice from inside and he squeezed Steve’s fingers, the other man practically vibrating in his boots.

The lock and chain were undone swiftly, the door swinging open. She wore a a burgundy blouse tucked neatly into a pair of black cigarette pants, equally dark kitten heals in place on her feet. Her hair had gone completely silver before the turn of the century and she hadn’t worn her signature red lipstick since the fall of the Berlin Wall, but her eyes in all their brown depths, their expressiveness and their profound kindness, had not changed in the slightest. She’d turned ninety all a month and a half previous and she was still one of the most stunning people Bucky had ever met.

Her hand came up to cover her mouth at the sight of them both, eyes wide and round and immediately filling with tears. “Oh,” she whispered, head tipping a few degrees to the left. “Oh, Steve.”

They reached for one another at the same time, Steve cradling Peggy close to him, pressing his face into her hair, her hands curled to his shoulder blades. Daniel had been gone for twenty years, now, and the gold wedding band he’d gave her in forty-nine was still settled on her finger, catching the morning light.

“Hey,” Steve said just as quiet, sniffling against her temple. “Heya, Peg.”

“I’d forgotten how tall you were,” Peggy croaked, lifting her head from his shoulder and touching lightly at his chin. Tears made silent tracks down her face, her lower lip quivering even as she was grinning widely. “How golden your hair was.”

Steve said something so soft that Bucky couldn’t hear it but whatever it was made Peggy smile impossibly wider. He teetered back a step, allowing them their well-deserved moment of privacy. There were a couple of older women power-walking in bright jogging suits, a man in shorts mowing the lawn in even stripes. A cat was balanced on a wooden fence between yards, tail flicking and swaying, soaking up the sun and watching the reunion with minor interest. It, if he were honest, vaguely reminded him of Natasha.

A hand curled to his bicep, startling out of his thoughts. “Oh, come here, James,” Peggy said, her nose stuffy with emotion and Steve let out a damp laugh of his own. She tugged him in by his collar, hand moving and tightening in the back of his jacket, Steve’s arm curling around Bucky’s middle and sealing them in a warm embrace.

They ended up in the sitting room, out of the view of the front window on the off-chance any nosy neighbors tried to sneak a peak.

“How was your drive in?” Peggy asked, settling in on her plush chaise and patting the seat next to her for Steve to take. Bucky settled in on the recliner to Peg’s right, near enough to take her hand across the end table.

“Not too bad,” Steve said, flicking his eyes to Bucky with a grin. “Buck threatened to run this little Bug off the road for going five under the speed limit on 95, but other than that, no international incidents.”

“Hey,” Bucky groused. “That asshat had it coming to him. Driving in the left lane and going under the speed limit? That ought to be a capital offense.”

“My god, I forgot how dramatic the both of you can be,” Peggy said, touching the tips of her fingers to her lips to hide a smile. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m glad you two could come in. Steve, darling, I have to ask— how are you after the attack on New York?”

Though the years had spread thin between the three of them and time hadn’t been nearly as kind as they wished it might, they talked as though no time had passed at all. It was so easy, their words blooming organically— if it hadn’t been for all the modern tech around them and Peggy’s clear signs of aging, they could have been in the canteen, yucking it up about something Dum Dum had done or how Peggy was going to empty the cartridge of her handgun at the nearest moving object if Phillips sent her on another useless solo mission.

Peggy gave them the names of a couple restaurants that were pretty low-key if they wished to have a quiet dinner out on the town that night, told them how her grand-niece was in the process of becoming a junior agent at SHIELD. Bucky updated her on Tony, how he was holding up after his trip through the wormhole over Manhattan.

“He clams up and waves me down each time I try to get him to talk about it,” Bucky admitted, eyes finding the photo of Tony, the day of his graduation from MIT surrounded by those who loved him most— Peggy, Daniel, Edwin, Bucky, and, in a rare sight, his mother, Maria, who’s dainty hand curled to his shoulder, her smile reserved, but proud. “You know how he gets.”

“Mmm,” Peggy allowed, flicking her eyes to the ceiling, long suffering. “Indeed I do. It does no good to press him, you know. I tried to do the same and he just prattled on about the new suit he was making.” She sighed. “I love that boy like he were my own son, James, but he never fails to frustrate me. He and Howard have that in common, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” he agreed on a sigh. “All any of us can do is just be patent with him and let him know we care. And a little light badgering here and there, a couple calls to Pepper, sure, but that’s only if we want to play hard ball.” Bucky slid off the end of the recliner to stand, stooping to brush a kiss to Steve’s temple, to kiss Peg’s forehead. “You watered your plants yet today?”

“Oh, James, you don’t have to worry yourself with that,” she insisted, but he shook his head and gave her a smile.

“I’m happy to do it. You two kick your feet up, catch up,” Bucky suggested.

“Buck…”

“Now, I know their ain’t much we haven’t said to one another through the years, but you two deserve your privacy, alright? I can’t be much more transparent about trying to extract myself to give that to you if I hired a skywriter.”

“Not even then,” Peggy said, dry, her mouth a wry line. “Depending on the wind letters might fade and vanish, you know.”

“Peg.”

“Alright,” she allowed, shooing him away with a little flutter of the hand not cradled between both of Steve’s. “Alright. Steve and I can gossip. I won’t hold back, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky smiled, throwing her a jaunty salute that made her call after him:

“You’d give Phillips an aneurism!”

“Been there, done that!”

He left the living room warmed by the sound of laughter in his wake. He ducked his head, hiding his smile.

Bucky went ahead and watered the line of plants she kept in her bright kitchen, all of them settled in the window to drink in the most sunlight. He dipped out back and used the water hose to give her azalea bushes a nice spray, too, and he wiped down the kitchen counters and washed the single bowl, spoon, and mug from Peggy’s breakfast prior to their arrival. He held the mug for a moment, the blue, chipped thing— Daniel’s favorite.

He gave it a gentle squeeze with his flesh hand, making a note to visit Daniel’s the moment they were vaguely near the west coast.

Bucky poked around for anything that looked like it needed to be done. He checked the laundry machine and found a damp load in the washer, brow furrowing. Half of what she’d thrown in looked to be the types of things you didn’t want to leave sitting for too long, lest they wrinkle and have to be throughly ironed out. He plucked everything out, carefully checking the tags for drying instructions.

He thought of what he and Tony had talked about a month ago, before Steve, before the aliens, before the Avengers: “Buck… I think Aunt Peg is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. It’s not obvious unless you really pay attention, but when we talked the other day, she called me Howard. Twice. She realized her slip, of course, but she’s never done that before. Never. She knows how much I hate when people compare me and Dad. I just,” and Tony had let out a shuddering breath, had pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to watch her slip away like that. I don’t know if I can stomach _that_.”

He hadn’t noticed any slips, so far. Bucky wouldn’t worry Steve with it unless Steve brought it up first, not unless he saw evidence of such himself.

Just like Tony, he didn’t know what he’d do if the hunch was correct. It had been bad enough when Daniel passed so suddenly, but such a slow deterioration… Bucky shook himself to clear the parasitic thought from his head. Today was a good day. No rain to stifle the sun.

He prepared a cup of tea for Peggy, coffee for he and Steve. A little bit of poking around in the cabinets and he produced a tin of biscuits— the kind dipped in a light coat of chocolate that Peggy kept for her great-grandkids. Everything was loaded up on a tea tray he found under the counter.

Bucky entered in the middle of what seemed to be Peggy’s recollection of the day Daniel asked her to marry him. “—and he dropped the ring, his hands were shaking so badly. He’d chosen to propose at sunset to get the best view, bless him, but the ring fell right through the cracks in the boardwalk and it was so dark it was near impossible to see. We ruined our clothes searching the water. It took the better part of an hour to find it and that’s only because I stepped on it.”

“He sounds real swell, Peg,” Steve said quietly, so earnest Bucky’s teeth ached. “I wish I could have met him.”

“Oh, you would have liked him,” she murmured. “He was a good man. The best I’ve ever met.”

“You have no idea how glad I am you found someone like Daniel.” 

 Bucky tightened his grip on the handles of the tray, stepping into the siting room with a half-smile. “You two would have gotten along well. He wanted to clock every asshole who ever acted like you were nothing but a secretary, Peg. Could you imagine the two of them together? The trouble they’d have caused?” 

The idea sent Peggy bursting with laughter. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” Peggy said, shaking her head and addressing mostly Steve. “It’s just, I remembered my earlier years with the SSR. After the war, I moved to Brooklyn, you know. Took a post at the Manhattan office and I was the only female agent on staff, so more often than not my only purpose was to prepare coffee or take everyone’s lunch orders.”

Steve looked as though he wanted to go back in time simply to call out every sexist yahoo that had dared downplay Peggy’s worth in such a manner. Bucky hoped he’d never find out that many had placed the label _Cap’s Girl_ above the rest of Peggy’s accomplishments in those days, how she had to work that much harder in Steve’s shadow. He’d shown up to the SSR office a time or two, glowering at anyone who talked down to her, smirking when Peggy would call them out on it.

“You should tell him about the time you stapled that guy in the face on a mission.”

Peggy shot Bucky a smirk, plucking up her mug with an appreciative nod. “Why that’s still one of your favorite stories after all these years, James, I have no idea.”

“Because you’re a badass, Peg,” he was quick to explain, plucking up a biscuit and popping it back in one bite. “And I’ve never met another person who would think to take out a guy with office supplies. Plus, you always tell it so much better than I ever could…”

*

They stayed till the sun had sank low on the sky and the world was draped in a cloak of gold to the west. Peggy had been on the verge of dozing off for well over an hour, jerking herself from the edge of sleep with a sheepish little smile.

“Do come back and visit,” Peggy said, walking them both to the door. She’d toed off her shoes hours ago, padding barefoot across the hardwood.

“Of course,” Steve assured her, a hand at the middle of her back. Bucky slipped into the mild evening, allowing Steve to snag the first hug. Peggy pulled away, though not before she kissed Steve’s jaw and touched lightly at his chin.

“I know this is a lot for you,” she said softly. “Seventy years thrown in your face all at once, but we’re here to guide you through it. All you have to do is ask, you stubborn man.”

“I know,” he mumbled, slanting a beautiful, crooked grin her way. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of it, no less fooled by it in the now then she’d been in forty-three. “I can’t thank you enough for it.”

Peggy held out her other hand for Bucky to take, looking between the two of them with damp eyes. “Bloody buggering Christ,” she said, laughing wetly. “I’m just so happy for the two of you.” Her gaze settled on Bucky, going soft. “You used to be so withdrawn, James. So absent even when you were in the same room. You’ve come so far, even if you don’t see it yourself. My heart is so full, for the both of you.”

Steve swallowed thickly, bringing Peggy’s hand to his mouth and giving her knuckles a firm kiss. He wrapped his other hand around hers, cradling it. “We’ll come back soon.”

“You’d better,” she said, sniffling. “Don’t think I forgot your birthday is coming up in a few weeks, Steve.”

Bucky tipped in to kiss her temple. “Thank you for today,” he whispered, pecking her on the cheek when she nodded.

“Do tell Anthony to drop in, too,” Peggy said. “I haven’t had one of my appliances catch fire in quite sometime and I’m getting rather bored of the smoke alarm being so quiet.”

A bark of laughter ripped from Bucky’s throat, a chuckle from Steve’s. “Will do. You take care.”

They hadn’t even made it a mile out of DC when Bucky shifted slightly in his seat, looking to Steve for as long as he could before the move became unsafe given he was going seventy-three miles an hour on the interstate.

“Hey,” Bucky said, mouth moving before his brain could fully catch up. “Do you want to go back to New York?”

“Uh,” Steve blinked, thrown by his askance. “Eventually…?”

Bucky snuck in to steal a kiss, flicking his turn signal on to take the next exit. “Alright, I’ll take that.”

*

They drove west, taking highways and scenic routes Bucky had once traveled alone. He listened to music, now, working their way through his digital library of songs on his phone and adding the ones Steve liked the most to a special playlist. Where he’d once dipped in and out of gas stations, grabbing nothing more than a protein bar or a bottle of water, he got a cherry Slurpee and Steve went wild for candy, getting a massive bag of new treats for them to test.

Twizzlers and Mound were out. Cookies N’ Creme Hershey’s, Milky Way and Kit Kat were in, as was a minor stomach ache for Steve. Bucky liked the particularly sweet taste the chocolate left on Steve’s lips and was more than a little encouraging on that front. They didn’t bother stopping off for a tent or even kindling for a fire, but they did hit a store for an inflatable mattress, a couple of thick blankets, and pair of pillows to throw in the truck bed.

He wanted Steve to see the stars.

The Grand Canyon hadn’t changed, not physically. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure why he’d expected it to have become a completely different landmark in the time that had passed since his last trip. Tony would have made a joke about Bucky being the national treasure that changed, and he’d be absolutely right, but seeing the faded orange rock and the seemingly endless formations that have been weathered and shaped for millions of years settled something in him.

Christ, he’d been so tired the last time. That bone-deep exhaustion nearly made him do something stupid and— and the thought— if he’d actually gone and… He didn’t get within ten feet from the lip of the canyon, his sights trained on Steve’s back as his beloved took a long look at the grasping chasm that reached out it’s arms in every direction as far as their eyes could see.

“How far down does it go, you think?”

“Hundreds of feet,” Bucky said. “Thousands, maybe.”

Too far. He didn’t want to know.

The lack of infliction in his tone made Steve turn, stirring up a more than a little dust as he moved to Bucky’s side. “Hey,” he said, tender as anything. “What is it?”

In the time after Steve pulled him off that lab table in Italy, Bucky’d developed the habit of wearing a mask not even Steve could breach, always fronting, always putting forth the illusion he was alright when he was anything but. Worse than that, Bucky knew they didn’t communicate as well during the war. If Bucky had a problem, he stamped down on it, tried to smother it away and shove it in a box that Steve could not see. He didn’t do that anymore, not if he could help it, not with Steve. If he did or caught himself on the verge of doing so, Tony’s voice would sound from the back of his head, calling him a hypocrite after all the times Bucky had sat Junior down to get him to use his words instead all the booze money could buy.

“I came here by myself, once,” Bucky admitted, sights trained off to the right of the sun, at the beginnings of twilight settling over the world in cuts of bronze. “Back in the late eighties. I’d… I’d been going through a bit of a rough patch and I almost did something stupid.” He didn’t clarify what that stupid something was, didn’t have to if the way Steve’s expression crumpled was any indication. Bucky stamped down on the rush of nausea that came at remembering the way his feet had scuffed sharply along the lip of the canyon, the bounce of pebbles knocking down the sides and vanishing into the abyss below. Steve clenched his jaw, like he could see directly into Bucky’s memory, like he’d been there to observe it and was just as pained by it as Bucky. “I went all around the country and it took me over forty years to come here, because if I did and you weren’t with me…”

“I’m here now,” Steve whispered, nodding once as though to assure himself of it, to assure Bucky. His hands were warm when they held Bucky’s face, thumbs stroking along the cut of Bucky’s cheekbones. “I don’t intend to leave ever again.”

“I know,” Bucky said, nodding. He felt a bit like a bobble head with such jerky motions. “That’s why I brought you here— to make a new memory, a better one, a sweeter one to counteract the bad. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Good thing you don’t have to,” Steve said. “S’good that we don’t owe this world a god damn thing.”

Not anymore. They’d given enough, done enough, _endured_ enough for several lifetimes over.

They arranged their makeshift bed the for the evening, blowing up the air mattress and covering it with the half a dozen blankets they’d piled into a cart when they’d taken a detour through Albuquerque.The pillows were arranged so they could sit up comfortably, their shoulders bumping as Bucky laid his head on Steve’s shoulder.

He’d smuggled a sketchbook and a couple of nice pens in with their haul. He reached through the back window into the cab to give it to Steve, smiling at the expression of genuine surprise on the other man’s face.

“When’s the last time you drew something, hmm?”

“I did a decent sketch of the Tower, couple days before the attack,” Steve murmured, touching at the butter-smooth pages. The paper was thick and heavy, something Bucky had believed might help Steve— he’d been so careful with his other sketchbooks after the serum, so ginger in the way he pressed a nub of pencil to the pages. And the pens were better than anything they’d had before or after the Depression, their ink black and saturated.

He drew the canyon, first, as a test. To measure the depths of the shadows the slanting sun cast upon the land. Light strokes for the places still exposed, hatch marks for the dry grass and the cracks in the sun-baked land along the edge.

Bucky indulged in a brief doze, the hours of driving, of endless highway and desert having made his eyes more than a little heavy. He shifted off to Steve’s arm to give him more wiggle room, hooking his left leg under Steve’s right to keep him close.

He only woke when Steve gave him a little nudge. It was properly dark, now, without even the hints of violet along the horizon.

Steve kept the pages spread with his thumb and forefinger, flashing the page Bucky’s way with a smile. It was Bucky’s face in profile, his eyes closed. Steve had drawn him while he was on the cusp of falling asleep, head tipped back against the truck, arms folded loosely over his chest with the blanket pulled up to his bellybutton. His hair hung across his forehead, the hold of his pomade loosening as the day wore on.

“You still got it,” Bucky murmured appreciatively, running a delicate thumb over the precise, dark lines of Steve’s drawing.

Steve’s hand rose to cup his cheek, mouth quirked in a smile that could only mean something heartfelt and sappy was going to fall from his lips: “I do. I still got you.”

Above their heads, the heavens cracked open to spill diamonds across the sky.


	2. beach bums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have a beach day because it's what they (and all of us) DESERVE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little sweet bit, here. Enjoy!

_2012._

*

See, before Bucky got Steve back, the winter months were always the hardest. He didn’t like to admit it, but he had more than his fair share of nightmares about ice whipping past his face as his body pin-wheeled into that Alpine ravine, how his mind would plant him in a shapeless cockpit, settled at Steve’s side. Steve’s face was always so easy to see, always so lined with pain before Bucky jerked awake in a too-big bed, colder than the spitting snow outside.

(The worst nightmares were the ones where the pain in Steve’s face fell away and he turned to Bucky with nothing behind his eyes, mouth thinned and his visage betrayed. “You did this,” Steve says, biting, accusing. “You’re the reason I’m doing this.”)

The cold just… reminded him of absence. Bucky was well aware he lacked a pivotal piece of himself, that he’d lost it to the sea and the probability of it being reclaimed was slim to none.

Thankfully, his chances were better than he’d ever anticipated.

*

Tony loaned them his oceanfront home for the weekend just in time for record high temperatures to swamp the Californian coast. That didn’t stop them from admiring the view, though, even if the strain on his air conditioner was a little worrying.

Malibu was gorgeous as always, with its endless skies and its clear blue waters, a color rival only to Steve’s eyes. All the green and the rolling kills seemed to fascinate Steve, a city-boy through a through. Sure, they’d done their fair share of trekking through Europe with the Commandos, saw a number of unforgettable landscapes they never would’ve if it hadn’t been for the war, but the opportunity to enjoy any of it was absent.

It was kind of hard to, especially when so many of the places were burned and half-demolished, ravaged by enemy fire.

Bucky had traveled to the west coast more times than he could count— for decades, it had been where Peggy was, where Tony was. He could navigate downtown Los Angeles almost as well as Manhattan, though he couldn’t quite say which city had the worst traffic; he had walked the streets of San Francisco during the height of the AIDS crisis, stood at the end of the Santa Monica pier as the night wrapped around him like an old friend. Just him and the murmuring water swaying into the piling.

He might have had all the time in the world to soak up the natural beauties that lay before him, but he’d be the first to admit the world was stripped of color when he lost Steve.

Now, though.

Junior had also been thoughtful enough to send away any and all staff so the two of them could have time away without interference of any kind.

Bucky snorted at Steve’s expression as they were cleared through the main gate, easing his truck up the winding, cypress-lined driveway. It was the same _sucked on a lemon_ face he’d made at Avenger’s tower— a “modern monstrosity”, with it’s long length, the multitude of glass windows and ceilings, the white, sleek foundations and their open floor plans.

“Looks like there’s so much empty space,” Steve said, grabbing his duffle as Bucky threw the truck in park and cut the engine.

“You remember that architect? The one who built that house in Pennsylvania on a waterfall?”

Steve perked. “Frank Lloyd Wright?”

“That’s the one. It always kind of reminded me of that,” Bucky told him, smacking a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth just to see his lips tick up. “The place is literally built into the cliffside. And there’s a path leading down to a private beach. I think it’ll grow on you.”

“ _You’ll_ grow on me,” Steve muttered, tugging him in for another searing kiss, smiling into Bucky’s mouth when Bucky groaned at his sad excuse of a comeback.

“Idiot,” he huffed, fond, tugging Steve out into the oppressive heat of mid-morning, the sun immediately glaring down on their shoulders and necks. “Come on, let me show you around.”

*

They were quick to settle into the guest room. It was the one Bucky had long-since claimed as his own space, as evidenced by the closet with a few sets of clothes already inside, the half-used toiletries in the en suite, the photo of Steve, before the serum, settled on the bedside table.

“It’s a copy,” Bucky murmured when it caught Steve’s attention. “From your SSR file. Peg gave it to me way back when. I keep the original in my wallet.”

“Still?” The surprised lilt in Steve’s voice was enough to make Bucky’s sternum pang.

“S’the only photo I have of you from before. And now that I have all the time in the world to capture the you of the present, well,” he shrugged, felt his cheeks stain when Steve’s face went all soft and dopey. God above, how Bucky lucked out with him, he had no fucking clue.

“You’re a sap,” Steve said, coming close enough to slide his hands up Bucky’s arms, up his neck until his warm, warm palms framed Bucky’s face. His thumbs made tender circling motions just below Bucky’s eyes.

“Just call me maple syrup, doll,” Bucky quipped, laughing when a little crinkle appeared at the bridge of Steve’s nose. “And I ain’t sorry about it.”

“I’ve loved you at every stage in our life, you know,” came the soft reply, Steve leaning in to press their foreheads together, to share the same air as Bucky. “Sometimes it blindsides me that I can keep on loving you more with each and every day.”

His eyes stuttered closed, the heat of Steve keeping him anchored to the now, a beacon ensuring the dark years, the chasm of time that this would have been impossible given the distance between them, remained far from mind. “Fuck, I love you.”

*

They didn’t make it to the beach until after two, having made their bodies well acquainted with the mattress and each other. They made sandwiches and packed up the necessary supplies for an afternoon in the sun. Bucky laid a floppy sunhat on Steve’s head, shooting him a look when Steve tried to take it off.

“I know how you burn, Rogers. It might not last as long, but you’ll still come out looking like a tomato if you’re not careful.”

Steve, unsurprisingly, didn’t wear the hat for long, but he put on enough sunscreen to smother a large animal. It was his Irish blood, the way he got so red so fast. Bucky had always been fortunate enough to tan with ease, assisted further given the time he spent outdoors.

He got eyed for his swim trunks, though, with Steve squinting as if his eyes were deceiving him.

“Tony’s idea of a joke,” Bucky sighed, gesturing to the red and gold trunks, the small Iron Man helmets that patterned his shorts. “I forgot to pick up another pair.”

“They look fine,” Steve reassured, though his brows were steadily climbing his forehead. His mouth twisted into a wry line, flashing a hint of teeth. “They out of ones with little shields on them?”

“Alright, Captain Comedy,” he huffed, looking at Steve over the rim of his sunglasses. Keeping Steve’s sight locked on him, on the sway of his hips, his body as Bucky teased shut the distance between them, allowed him the opportunity to bat the brim of the hat into Steve’s face. Bucky took off towards the surf at top speed— Steve was left making a high-pitched squawking sound.

Still, despite the head start, he was overtaken by Steve in a matter of seconds, both of them sprinting and flinging sand up in their wake. They flung themselves into the sea like a couple of kids, surfacing with splutters at the sting of salt water and brine, Bucky groaning at the sting of it in his eyes. All it took was shooting Steve a glance that morphed into a warm stare at the sight of him grinning stupidly and he felt his own stupidly huge smile lifting the corners of his mouth, too.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Steve said, absolutely delighted as if his own mop wasn’t splayed and sticking to his forehead, rucked up in more directions than Bucky could count. Bucky had let his hair grow out again in the last year, long enough that he could tuck it behind his ears. Steve had always liked to run his fingers through it, said he liked the softness and the texture, and, at a length he’d never seen it before, his admiration had only grown.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a model for neatness right now, either,” Bucky said, tipping his head back into the water and smoothing a hand over his scalp. “Better?”

“Mmm.”

Steve was already going pink along his nose and shoulders, bless him, the freckles sprinkled over his back coming alive under the sudden wash of color against his skin. Bucky swam close enough to slide his arms around Steve’s neck, the water gently lapping around them, swaying as they did.

He cradled Steve’s face as the other man tipped his head into the sun, eyelashes clumped together, mouth slightly parted. Ethereal. Steve looked fucking ethereal, the way his hair caught the light of the afternoon only assisting in this.

“S’beautiful here,” Steve murmured, eyelids fluttering open to track the cry of a gull over their heads. The slim creature carried its calls toward the beach, to the pale cliff-face and the tall reeds clustered at its base.

“Sure is,” Bucky agreed, the pads of his fingers gliding down Steve’s neck, over his clavicle, slipping around to grasp at his shoulder blades. “Don’t tell Tony, but this is one of my favorite places.”

Steve leaned in close, bumped their noses together. “Why not tell him? I think he’d appreciate it.”

“Junior would try to build me a house just like this one on this same beach. You know how he is.”

“Do… do you want a house out here?”

“Steve.”

“ _Buck_.”

Bucky kissed him, shaking his head as he stamped down on a small smile. “I got to know the west coast, sure, but that doesn’t mean I ever got tired of Brooklyn, of New York.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Steve mumbled, their foreheads flushed together, his eyes searching Bucky’s. “And if that means getting a place out here then you won’t find me complaining.”

There hadn’t been a day since May of the previous year that Bucky hadn’t been bubbling with joy like a just-popped bottle of champagne. Sure, they’d had their bad days and their half-and-half days where one of them wasn’t feeling so hot, but Steve was there. He was breathing and he loved Bucky just as much as Bucky was gone on him and that made everything else pale in importance.

“Don’t you know by now that home is anywhere I am with you?” Bucky murmured, smoothing the furrow in Steve’s brow with a tender fingertip. “Wherever we wake up in the morning wrapped up in each other and decide to stay in or to go out in our ball caps and sunglasses to dodge the paps. It’s where I feel the safest and the warmest, and that’s always been at your side, Steve.”

Steve’s hands brushed along Bucky’s jaw, cupping, cradling, and his eyelashes were so thick, his gaze so soft, his face flushed as the right corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile. “I do,” Steve said. “But it sure is a comfort to hear you say it out loud.”

Bucky leaned into him, eyes fluttering as he pressed their foreheads together. “Ain’t nothing changing that. Sixty-six years didn’t. Another sixty-six, another hundred, even, won’t either.”

They bobbed like that, curled close and lulled by the breaths of the sea. Steve ended up pulling back with a mischievous smile, a gleam that had never meant anything good sparking in his gaze. 

Bucky realized about half a second too late that he was going to get dunked beneath the waves. He surfaced, shaking his hair out of his face, and immediately made for a counter-attack. “Them’s fighting words, Rogers!”

Steve laughed, loud and booming, so pleased with himself that he let Bucky tug him beneath the surf, his head popping up above the water with the eloquence of someone slipping on a banana peal.

It was only when Bucky noticed Steve’s nose was a worrying shade of pink did he suggest they return to the beach. He’d carried down an umbrella, wedging it into the ground and opening its colorful canopy to spread towels beneath it.

They had a quiet lunch that turned into a bit of a make-out session when Bucky missed a small dollop of creme at the corner of his mouth from these pastries they’d picked up at Pepper’s recommendation. Beaches were romantic, sure, but much of the heat fizzled out when sand threatened to get into places sand never should. Breaking apart, their mouths were swollen as they both groaned at the feel of grit chafing their thighs and arms.

He dug around in his bag for his phone, turning his back to the water.

“C’mere,” Bucky said, tucking Steve under his arm with the sun haloing their heads, casting a disk of light against Steve’s gold hair as if he were a saint of old. Bucky didn’t repress the urge to kiss him again, smiling against his mouth as Steve’s nose bumped gently into his. “Diana told me to send her a photo once we were settled.” Given they’d been frolicking in the water for the part of an hour and a half, Steve’s skin starting to burn like a reminder of such, they’d done more than _settle in_.

He pressed his lips to Steve’s temple, Steve’s arm going automatically around Bucky’s middle as they leaned into one another. Bucky snapped the photo, smiling at the screen. “It’s official. That’s my new phone background.”

Steve leaned in to give the picture a look, nodding happily at the result. “Send it to me?”

“Of course.”

Diana replied fairly quickly, sending a crinkle-eyed, sweetly smiling photo of herself in the Louvre, standing before a work that made Steve’s eyes widen. He went so far as to take the phone from Bucky to give the screen a better look, even pinching the photo to zoom in.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Buck, that’s the Winged Victory of Samothrace.”

Bucky was familiar with the work, given Diana had expressed her admiration for it on more than one occasion. It was settled in its own wing, the only work in that area and while foot-traffic tended to be pretty heavy around it, on the slow days, Diana liked to drink her coffee on her lunch break there. Told him she could spend hours just quietly observing the folds of material against the slim, white marble body, the length of the wings spread as though preparing to launch off into the open air.

“I know,” Bucky said, chuckling at the incredulous look on Steve’s face, the one that seemed to ask _when the hell did you learn anything about art?_ “It’s one of Di’s favorites.”

“I studied it, back when I used to take those art classes at the community center— wait,” Steve gave him a _look_. “Have you _seen_ it?”

He surrendered a sheepish grin Steve’s way. “A time or two, yeah. When Diana first started working at the Louvre, I took a trip to Paris and she gave me a tour. She showed me the behind the scenes stuff, too— the archives and all that. I’m sure she’d love to do it again for you.” Diana in her element was something electric, seeing her just pluck up the histories of pieces, the dates they were made, biographies of those who crafted such timeless works.

The first time she and Steve went to MoMA, they’d collectively geeked out. It was also one of Steve and Diana’s first real occasions to spend time together without Bucky around and while he didn’t know the minute details of their excursion, the pair had come back closer, joking around, even. And Steve had respected Diana from the very moment they’d met, but that respect had deepened, strengthened by some sort of understanding.

Bucky had never asked what they’d talked about, but whatever— whoever— it centered around, he was glad for it.

*

Right at dusk, when the sun was low, barely able to keep its massive, bronze face above the horizon, Bucky received a text from Junior: _Got ya covered. Thank me later._

On cue, a sound like a fuse lighting came from the mansion overhead, quickly followed by an explosion of fireworks across the sky. Steve jerked at the initial crack of light, louder than thunder, as intense as gunfire, shifting closer to Bucky.

“Well, you sure weren’t kidding,” Steve said, nodding at the sparkling red and blue pin-wheel above them.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, doll.”

“About how eccentric Tony is,” and then he stopped, seemed to do a bit of mental-math. “You were on the phone with him for a while before we left. Did—,” Steve turned to him, eyes huge and full of wonder. “Did you do this?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, tipping his face down to look into Steve's. “Yeah, I did. Tony copped the bill and set everything up, but I had the idea since you didn't get to see fireworks on your birthday." That had been a particularly grueling mission, one where Steve came back three days later with two bruised ribs and limping on a still-healing broken ankle. 

With wonder and affection softening his features, Steve surged in and if Bucky hadn't anticipated the movement, their teeth would have clacked painfully and their noses would have been squished uncomfortably together. 

In the space between their mouths, Bucky asked: "Makes up for all the times I told you the fireworks were for you when we were kids, right?" 

Steve snorted, keeping close. So deliciously close. "You and Ma both had me duped for years." 

"Until dumb old Mrs. Johnson told us about Independence Day in the second grade."  

"Kind of hard to sweep a national holiday under the rug for too long, Buck." 

"Ah, well," Bucky grinned, brushing Steve's bangs out of his face and huffing on a laugh when they immediately tumbled right back into place.  “It was a nice thought while it lasted.”

Bucky pulled Steve in so he laid with his head on Bucky’s chest, allowing for Bucky to settle an arm around his trim middle, chin balanced on Steve’s shoulder, and their mouths close enough that all it took was the angling of their heads for them to be kissing. Steve slipped his hand into Bucky’s metal one, laying his other over the hand Bucky had flattened along his abdomen. They hadn’t thought to tug their shirts back on and their feet were heavily coated with sand. 

There was nowhere else in the world Bucky would rather be.

He quickly typed out a  _thanks, kid_ to Tony ( _We'll do brunch when you two get back. Don't break my house!!_ was the quick reply), took one last photo of the two of them. The front flash lit up their beaming faces, highlighted the scrunch of Steve’s nose when he let out a deliriously happy laugh. With brilliant color blooming and fading and blooming above their heads, Bucky thought: 

_Maybe the schmuck who said good things come to those who wait wasn’t full of shit after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, bounding forward to Diana and her Steve. Also if you'd like, leave a comment suggesting a scene you'd like to see me post later on! See ya'll soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Up next, the boys have a beach day because it's what they DESERVE. Rest assured, Tony, Diana, etc. will be popping up also, as well as a few faces we've not yet seen. You can take a guess as to who that is/they are in the comments :) See you all soon!


End file.
